


Oil Slick

by ancalime8301



Series: Spencer Stories [13]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cats, Community: watsons_woes, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Non-Human Character(s) - Freeform, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer "helps" Watson take inventory of the various things in his medical bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oil Slick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile) day 1 prompt: an image from [a slip/fall warning sign](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1048617.html)  
> I might also use this for my [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile) square, "accidents"

Several years into our acquaintance, I had, with Holmes' blessing, begun to acquire a patient here and there to keep my skills in practice and in hopes of directing those efforts toward obtaining a practice of my own at some indefinite time in the future. Spencer seemed confused by the fact that I would venture out without Holmes, then return smelling of strange people and places. He had always had a tendency to stick close to me after I had been absent, jumping in my lap when I sat down or rubbing against my legs and ankles as I tried to walk.

On this particular afternoon, Spencer was, as usual, attaching fur to my trouser legs as I crossed to my desk and set my medical bag upon it. While at the home of an elderly patient that morning, I had discovered, to my dismay, that I was nearly out of several tinctures, and resolved to take inventory of my supplies as soon as I returned home. It was something I had been meaning to do for some time, but several urgent cases had distracted my attention and I neglected this most important task. A doctor is not much use without the proper supplies!

Carefully I set all of the bottles and pouches and various sundries out on the surface of the desk, arranging them alphabetically. Spencer's ears perked up at the rattle of the bottles on the wooden surface, and he lightly leaped up to investigate. He carefully threaded his way through and around the bottles and padded down the line, sniffing each one thoroughly.

Once it was clear that he was content merely to sniff, I paid him little heed as I pulled out my small notebook and began jotting down notes about what I needed to replenish. A few things I had to open and smell to be sure that they were still fresh, for they had not been used recently and I was not certain how long their contents had been languishing in my bag. The cod liver oil was one such item; I had to take the bottle out from under Spencer's questing nose and he watched me carefully while I wiggled out the cork and took a good sniff of the contents. Judging it acceptable, I replaced the cork and let Spencer return to his investigation while I continued mine.

The only explanation for what followed is that I was not sufficiently careful in replacing the cork, and Spencer managed to work it loose with his teeth. I did notice when Spencer began pawing at the bottle, but thought nothing of it, noting only that it was sufficiently distant from the edge of the desk that there was little danger of him knocking it off and smashing it.

With patient effort, Spencer succeeded in knocking the bottle onto its side, and he started rubbing his face against the cork. Amused, I petted him and returned to my inventory, paying him no more heed as he batted at and rubbed against the bottle.

Only gradually I became aware of licking sounds and the renewed smell of cod liver oil. When I finally looked up, Spencer was lapping daintily at the edges of a growing pool of the oil, which spread slowly toward and then over the edge of the desk. "Spencer!" I cried in alarm.

He jolted in startlement, knocking against the tipped bottle and sending it crashing noisily to the floor. He jumped down after it and, as I leaned over the desk to view the damage, I had to laugh despite my dismay: Spencer had landed squarely in the pool of oil upon the wooden floor. Try as he might, he simply could not get any of his paws to go in the same direction and enable his escape. He slipped and slid and mewed in distress, looking for all the world like Holmes in a pair of ice-skates on a smooth pond.

I was able to round the desk and grab him before he could track the oil onto Mrs. Hudson's carpets, and took him to the bathing room to be cleaned off. My clothes weren't as lucky as the carpets, for Spencer squirmed mightily as I carried and cleaned him. When I set him down, he seemed torn between bolting and settling down for a good wash; in the end he licked at one front paw briefly, then scurried from the room, his tail so low it was almost between his legs.

He did not emerge from the dark corner where he licked his wounds until it was time for his dinner (I never determined where he was hiding for those hours). Even then, he gave my desk and the floor around it--which I had, with Mrs. Hudson's assistance, cleaned up as well as was possible--a very wide berth for some weeks afterward.

To this day, he will not go near anything that smells fishy.


End file.
